


Rising Spirits, Rising Dough

by katherine1753



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Bread, Flirting, Ghosts, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:41:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27308614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katherine1753/pseuds/katherine1753
Summary: Mrs. Pleasance tells Segundus a ghost story, Segundus goes to investigate.
Relationships: John Childermass/John Segundus
Comments: 5
Kudos: 16





	Rising Spirits, Rising Dough

**Author's Note:**

> For fol-de-lol's spooky prompts!
> 
> Please forgive any OOC-ness for Mrs. Pleasance or mistakes about timing or formatting issues, I haven't had wifi in days and I'm doing this via my phone.
> 
> The ghost story told in this fic is altered from a ghost story one town over from me!
> 
> Note: This work does contain mentions of suicide and death by hanging, if either of those (or panics caused by those sights, or panics caused by ghosts/hauntings) are triggers for you, then skip this one. No major characters die though!

It was a crisp autumn evening with dusk just settling over the quiet town of York; leaves swirled in the brisk yet gentle wind blowing along the cobbled streets. Mr. Segundus hurried along, wanting to get back to his rooms before it got too dark. He’d been reading in the park and lost track of time, a common occurrence for him, hours passing by in the beautiful weather until the sunlight had dimmed enough that he was squinting at the pages of his book.

He walked up the front steps of Lady-Peckitt’s-yard, and the smell of freshly baked bread wafted over him as he opened the door. Mrs. Pleasance was baking again. He smiled. Segundus quite liked his landlady, a sweet older woman filled with stories of the town that she and her family had lived in all their lives. She also boasted the title of best bread baker in York, perhaps even England if you were to ask the right people. Segundus would have claimed so, her bread was his favorite. 

He knocked gently on the kitchen doors as he passed by, seeing her bustling about the ovens. “Good Evening, Mrs. Pleasance,” he greeted, hanging his scarf on the hook by the hearth. 

“Oh! Mr. Segundus! You have good timing, I’m just slicing these loaves up. Would you sit with me and have some bread?”

“Of course, Mrs. Pleasance,” John agreed happily. He would never turn down bread from Mrs. Pleasance, especially not when it was gresh out of the oven. 

“Hettie, please, how many times do I have to insist?” she called back as she took down two plates from a cabinet. 

Segundus merely smiled a bashful little smile, but he would continue to call her Mrs. Pleasance. It was only polite.

“Where have you been this evening, Mr. Segundus? It’s getting quite late,” she mentioned with a nod out the rapidly darkening window.

“Ah. I was reading in the park. Lost track of the time,” he smiled sheepishly. “It’s so peaceful under that big oak tree there on the far hill. And no one ever sits there, I somehow always have it to myself no matter how early or late I arrive.” It had become a favored reading spot of his, always quiet and secluded just enough to not have any distractions.

“Oh!” Mrs. Pleasance gasped. “But Mr. Segundus! Don’t you know that tree is haunted?”

“...haunted?” John asked warily. He wasn’t sure if he believed in ghosts, just as many others weren’t sure if they believed in magic. But now that he had seen magic happen with his own eyes, proving what he had known all along, he knew there were phenomena on this Earth he would never fully understand, and so ghosts could very plausibly be one of those things. He’d been frightened by ghost stories as a boy, and tended to avoid them or ignore them as an adult. He didn’t mind when things were a little bit spooky, in fact, those stories tended to intrigue him, but he was wary of ghost stories because of the few that had been so frightening in his youth.

“Oh yes!” she exclaimed. “It’s horrible! I’ll tell you all about it, if you don’t think it’ll give you too much of a fright?” Segundus, curious about his tree, assured her it would not, and she gathered two plates piled high with thick slices of bread and a large slab of butter and brought them over to the wooden table. Segundus helpfully grabbed the steaming kettle off of the stovetop, pouring them both some tea before sitting down with her. He thanked her for the bread, buttering a piece as he waited patiently for her story. 

“Many, many years ago, when York was much smaller, perhaps even before it was named so, there was a little shop that faced the hill there. A young girl worked there, only sixteen or so. Lucy. Her uncle owned the shop. She often sat out under that tree, a much younger tree then but still providing plenty of shade and a good spot to sit. How is the bread?”

“Oh!” Segundus startled, already entranced by her tale. “Oh, it’s wonderful, Mrs. Pleasance. The best bread I’ve ever had,” he said truthfully. A thick, crisp, golden crust, milky white and cloud-soft inside, warm enough to melt the butter just so, it was truly perfect bread. 

Mrs. Pleasance beamed, she was very proud of her bread, and rightly so. Segundus wondered if her bread was not only the best in England, but, perhaps, the entire world.

“So one day,” she continued. “A boy came by the tree. Edward. He was from another town, a ways down the road, and the towns had a bitter feud. But that Lucy didn’t care, and neither did her Edward, and he started to come by every week and then every day, until it was obvious that they were in love.

“Her family didn’t approve. Nor did the rest of the town. She was forbidden to see him, but she would sneak out to meet him whenever she could. They were caught kissing one midnight on a full moon. Her uncle nearly killed the boy. The next night that Lucy snuck out, Edward never came. She waited and waited all night. In the morning she found out that her uncle had had him arrested, and he was accused of a number of horrible things. Only Lucy stood up for him at his trial, but no one would listen to her. He was sentenced to be hanged from their tree on the next full moon.”

“Oh, that’s terrible,” Segundus said, clutching his hunk of bread. 

Mrs. Pleasance nodded solemnly, slipping another slice onto his plate. She was always trying to sneak him more food, especially when he got distracted reading and forgot a meal or two. “She did everything she could to set him free, but that night came, and he was killed. The girl, in her grief, hanged herself beside him that very midnight.”

“Is this a true story, Mrs. Pleasance?” he asked, picking up the new bread that he hadn’t noticed her put on his plate.

“He carved their initials into the tree, look for them if you dare!” she said dramatically. “Of course it’s true, all my stories are true,” she insisted. “Every full moon, close to midnight, you can see her searching and calling for him. Sometimes she’ll even come up to you! If you look up, you’ll see his ghost hanging from the tree and hear her ghostly cries. At midnight, her spirit climbs up and joins his, oh it’s terrifying. Isn’t that frightening?”

“Oh. Yes.” Truthfully, Segundus found it more sad than anything. He would hate to have to relive a moment so awful. 

“When the clock strikes midnight, their grieving spirits lash out in anger and despair until the last bell tolls, and then they fade away. If you make it through the haunting, and don’t try to stop them, it is said that they forgive you and your true love will be revealed to you.”

“Is that how you met Mr. Pleasance?” he asked curiously, starting to doubt the legend a little bit more. Ghosts were one thing, but fortune telling ghosts? He wasn’t so sure about that.

“Oh, Lord, no. We met at church, like any respectable couple, Mr. Pleasance and I, God rest his soul.” 

Segundus glanced out the window and saw the moon high up in the sky. “Mrs. Pleasance, are you telling me this because tonight is a full moon?” Maybe she’d just been teasing him. 

“No! I didn’t even realize! You mustn’t go try and see, Mr. Segundus, it’s too horrible!” She grabbed his hand earnestly. He could see the worry in her eyes. He assured her that it was something that he had no desire to see. They finished their bread, he thanked her again, and bade his goodnights. 

Tucked up warm in his bed, Segundus found that he could not sleep, the story still playing in his head. It truthfully wasn’t as frightening as he’d expected, but perhaps seeing it would be scarier. Or perhaps he didn’t scare as easily as he had as a boy, he had been one of the only magicians not afraid of Norrell’s statues. 

Segundus heard the Minister bells strike eleven and he sighed. He didn’t really want to venture out in the dark or the cold, but he knew he’d never get any sleep unless he sated his curiosity. 

He got dressed by candlelight as silently as he could; he didn’t want to wake Mrs. Pleasance especially after he had said that he wouldn’t go out. He snuck out of the house and less than a street away he wished he’d brought a warmer coat, but it was too late to go back now. Thankfully the full moon was bright in the clear night sky, making it easy to walk and navigate the old twisting streets.

The tree stood dark in the moonlight upon the hill. It still looked calm and peaceful, and as Segundus approached he was beginning to doubt the existence of ghosts. But it was then that he heard it, the quiet weeping. 

He walked as quietly as he could around the edge of the massive trunk, stepping carefully over the winding roots. There by the tree, he saw a spectral image of a girl, transparent and softly glowing. A ghost. A real, true ghost. Segundus wished he had a way to document this. He wished he could help her, as she looked so utterly heartbroken and distraught. 

She looked directly at him, but it was as if she was staring through him. “Where is Ned? Where is my Edward?” she sobbed. John called out to her gently, but it was as if he were the ghost. She kept staring through him, shimmering tears rolling down her cheeks, and it seemed that she did not hear him. Segundus shivered, and it was only partly from the cold. 

Lucy’s ghost looked up and screamed. Segundus jumped, but it was more from being startled than scared. He followed her gaze and gasped at the sight. Hovering below a thick branch, spectral and shining and very much dead, was Edward, pale as moonlight. 

John watched as her form floated up the tree trunk and sat miserably on the top of his branch. The clock began to strike twelve. 

On the first bell, she let go of the tree. Segundus reached out to her, and he felt like time was slowing down. It looked as if she fell in slow motion. The slow arc of her fall, her dress rippling in a different wind than Segundus could feel. 

On the second bell, Segundus saw her ghost swinging, dead eyes and broken neck matching her lover beside her. He shivered again, Mrs. Pleasance had been right about the horrible sight, but he was still more heartbroken than afraid.

The third bell had Segundus freezing in fear, a whooshing sound screaming up from deep within him and down below and all around, the likes of which he’d never heard before. It was ethereal and demonic all at once, and he never wanted to hear such a noise again. He wanted to cover his ears but he found that he could not move. The ghosts stared at him with unseeing eyes, anger on their faces, and the sounds looked like they were coming from their mouths.

The fourth bell. John could not shut his eyes either. The sound turned into ghostly screams, human screams, of despair and anguish. Everything still felt too slow, everything still felt too much. And Segundus felt a bit wobbly like he did when strong magic was happening around him.

On the fifth bell, he felt ice cold hands grabbing at him. He nearly screamed, but he was still frozen in place. The hands were everywhere, reaching, grabbing, pleading. He wanted to shake them off, wanted to run, but could not move, could not even flinch. 

On the sixth bell, he felt every ounce of dread he’d felt in his life rushing back to him. Past memories and fears, every horrible moment he’d ever known, all coming to him and passing through his mind all at once. It felt like an eternity though he knew it was truly only a few seconds between the tolling bells. 

On the seventh bell, he felt the grief of the lovers deep in his heart, a feeling he’d never known himself, and it ached.

On the eighth bell, he felt pain. It was like he was being pulled apart and squished together, like he was being stabbed and shot and sliced all at once. He felt himself nearly faint from it. He was sure he would have if it were under normal circumstances. 

On the ninth bell, the pain disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving him gasping for breath. The ghosts came back to themselves, their dead eyes becoming more focused as they appeared more human in the moonlight. 

On the tenth bell, the ghosts held hands and began to drift towards the sky. A calm peace fell over Segundus and the tree and the park. The air was still. 

On the eleventh bell, they began to disappear and fade. The regular gentle winds of autumn returned. The ghosts smiled at each other as they floated higher and higher. 

On the twelfth bell, he heard galloping hooves. At first he was afraid it was another spirit, but then he remembered what Mrs. Pleasance had said. It was exactly midnight. Had she been right? He had made it through, was his true love going to rescue him? Be revealed in some other way? His heart pounded in his chest, he shivered from the cold and the fear and the adrenaline. He had made it through the haunting, which had been truly frightening, and now, riding up to him on a horse was-

“Evening, Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said curiously from atop his hulking black horse, coming to a stop beneath the oak tree. Segundus gaped at him. Mr. Childermass couldn’t be...surely he...but he was here right at the time and...

“What are you doing here?” he managed to ask instead, shaking in his not-warm-enough clothes from the cold and fear and confusion. And the small bit of hope warming in his chest. 

“Nr. Norrell needs leaves from an old oak tree harvested right at midnight on a full moon for a spell,” he explained in his deep voice, accent soft. He plucked a few leaves and tucked them into his saddlebag. After a glance back at Segundus, he put a final leaf in a pocket of his greatcoat. 

“What are  _ you _ doing here?” Childermass asked him in turn, dark eyes staring into his. Those eyes...Segundus felt his cheeks growing pink but was thankful it was too dark to see them properly. “You’ll catch cold, dressed like that.” 

Segundus shivered again. Perhaps not from the cold this time.

“Oh, I...I wanted to see…” he hesitated. He didn’t want to sound foolish, but with what he had just experienced, he fully believed and suddenly it didn’t matter to him if anyone listened to him or not. He knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that ghosts were real and that was good enough for him. “Well, Mrs. Pleasance, my landlady, she told me a ghost story, and...it sounds frightfully silly but I wanted to see if it was real. If ghosts were real. I couldn’t sleep unless I came to check.”

“Ghosts are very real, Mr. Segundus,” Childermass said seriously. “Did she tell you about Lucy and Edward, or Old Mr. James?” he cocked his head with a curious smile. 

“Lucy and Edward. Who is Old Mr. James?” Another ghost for Segundus to find? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to deal with another haunting, but his curiosity was piqued. 

Childermass grinned at him, a mischievous expression on his dark face. “He haunts this tree too. You’ll have to ask your landlady about him another time. He’s a scary one.”

“Oh,” Segundus frowned. He wasn’t really sure if he wanted to know anymore.

“Or I could tell you sometime,” Childermass offered, making John stare at him. Maybe...maybe Mrs. Pleasance hadn’t been wrong about any of it. Childermass reached up on the trunk, pointing out an old looking carving. “Lucy and Edward’s initials are carved here, see?” Segundus did, and he nodded. “And you saw them?” Childermass asked. 

“Oh, yes. I did. It was...well…” he shook his head as the images from what he had just witnessed flooded back to him. He was sure he’d have nightmares about this. The ghosts may have haunted the tree, but experiencing them would haunt his dreams.

“And you made it through,” Childermass mused, that curious expression still on his face.

“Oh. yes. Yes, I- I suppose I did…” 

There was that smirk again. “Well, come on then,” Childermass reached out a hand. Segundus hesitated. Surely...surely…

“You’ll freeze to death, let me take you home,” he grumbled as if he were very much put upon by such a large imposition as to taking him the short ride home, but the upward quirk of his lips was still there. Teasing. Gentle teasing. From Mr. Childermass. John felt himself smiling before he could do anything about it. Segundus took his hand, somehow warm despite the chilled night air. 

Segundus could have sworn he saw a faint glow emit from their hands as they clasped them. He looked back at the branch. Lucy was there. She gave them a single nod, a small smile, and drifted back into her lover’s arms as they faded into the night. 

Childermass pulled Segundus up onto his horse, settling him in front, and his large greatcoat sheltered John from the cold wind. Childermass was warm and solid against his back. It was very comforting. 

“Were you frightened?” Childermass murmured right by his ear, causing a new round of shivers. Childermass took his horse’s reins and let his arms press against Segundus’s sides. 

“Oh. Perhaps a bit,” he said bravely. 

“And now?” It was spoken so quietly, but John could feel his breath warm against his cheek. 

“No,” he said honestly. “Have...have you been here for the haunting before?”

Childermass paused for a moment. “I don’t need to, now, do I?” 

“No, I...I suppose not,” Segundus blushed and, with a moment of boldness, let one of his hands rest atop Childermass’s own. 

When they had reached Lady-Peckitt’s-yard, and Childermass had helped him down from atop the horse, they stood for a moment, hesitating in the moonlight. Segundus had not let go of Childermass’s hand from when he took it to help him down. 

After a moment in which he seemed to make up his mind, Childermass reached into his pocket and pulled out the oak leaf he had plucked earlier. He cupped it in his hands and whispered something that Segundus couldn’t hear, and when he opened them again the leaf had turned silver, gleaming softly in the moonlight. Childermass placed it in John’s hand and curled his fingers around it. 

“Oh,” Segundus breathed. “It’s beautiful.”

Childermass smiled his little half-smile. “I thought you might like it.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t have- oh wait, a moment, please,” he suddenly had a thought on what he could give Childermass in return.

As quietly as he could, Segundus crept into the kitchen and took a loaf of bread for Childermass. “It’s...not much, compared to your leaf,” he said quietly as he stepped back outside. “But it’s really the best bread you’ll have ever tasted, Mrs. Pleasance is very talented. It’s...um…”

“It is your favorite,” Childermass said, and it wasn’t a question. “And so it is worth a great deal.” 

“Oh,” Segundus blushed again. 

Childermass took his unoccupied hand and raised it to his lips, pressing the smallest of kisses across his knuckles. “Until I see you again,” he said softly. He gave John’s hand a gentle squeeze, then he turned and led his horse down the dark street, nearly disappearing into the shadows like a ghost himself. 

Tucked snugly into his bed, smiling and finally able to sleep, Segundus wondered if the ghosts would be able to move on now that someone had possibly found love under their tree. He wondered if perhaps there were other ghosts that he and Mr. Childermass could help. His hand closed around the silver leaf, and he drifted off to a sleep filled with pleasant dreams. 


End file.
